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15
EMMA
All day, as I went about my usual tasks and errands before getting ready for work, I haven’t been able to get Dante’s invitation out of my head.
On the surface, it seems clear what his intentions are. He wants to pull me a little further into his world, to show me that we’re not as incompatible as I keep insisting we are. He wants to show me that it’s not all violence and crime and breaking and entering—there’s a glamor to his life, too.
The problem is, I already know that. I know there are two sides—or more, even—to the world that he inhabits. But I would have to be okay with all of it—or not at all.
I’ve made up my mind, by the time I get back home, to text him and tell him no. That I can’t attend the party with him, that there’s no point in it. To tell him to take someone else, as much as the thought of any other woman on his arm, twists my stomach and sends a hot flush of jealousy through me.
Which is exactly why I need to tell him no.A man like Dante isn’t accustomed to hearing that word, and he’s good at talking me out of it. But this is never going to be more than a fling.For all I know, he still has other women on the side.
I don’t really believe that. We haven’t talked about exclusivity, and thankfully we used condoms that second night, when he came over. But I don’t really think he’s sleeping with anyone else. The fact that he left the Neon Rose because he wanted me more than one of the girls there is enough to make me believe that there’s no one else in his bed.
There certainly isn’t anyone else in mine.
That doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way,I tell myself as I walk up the stairs, jingling my keys in my hand. I’ve tried not to think too hard about the fact that he wanted to stay the night after he came over, and I didn’t let him, or how he wanted me to stay after the session. I’ve tried not to think about how it felt to have him in my bedroom, how I woke up in the morning and missed the sight of him on the other side of my bed.
All of that leads to inevitable hurt.
I go over the text that I’m going to send him once more in my head, just as I get to the top of the stairs—and then I stop dead in my tracks.
There are two packages in front of my door—one large, flat and rectangular, and the other atop it smaller, the size of a shoebox. They’re both wrapped in matte black paper, and I see a small, heavy card-stock envelope attached to the top box with a gold silk ribbon wrapped around it.
He didn’t.I don’t even need to look at the envelope to know the boxes are from Dante. There’s no one else who would send me gifts—especially not like this. And I don’t think I have to guess too hard at what they are, given the event that he asked me to just last night.
I bite my lip as I unlock my door, pick up the packages, and close the door behind me with my foot. I carry them down the hall to my bedroom, finally setting them down and looking at them both for a long moment.
I could simply not open them. I could text Dante and tell him this is too much, and then follow it up with the refusal that I planned in my head.
The curiosity is already too much.
Huffing out a sigh, I reach for the larger package first. The wrapping paper feels ridiculously luxurious, thick, and stiff as an actual sheet of paper, with a matte texture that makes me want to run my fingers over it. I rip it loose with a little effort, revealing a flat gold box beneath that makes me shake my head. The box itself is beautiful enough without even needing to be wrapped—the extra layer is the kind of extravagance that reminds me clearly of the large divide between my world and Dante’s.
But it doesn’t stop me from lifting the lid to see what’s inside.
Under layers of tissue paper lies folded crimson-red silk. I know it’s a dress before I even lift it out of the box, but I gasp when I do, the fabric slithering through my fingers as I hold it up.
It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The top is fitted silk, with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves, curving into a bodice and skirt that will cling to me like a second skin. There are slits up both sides, and I can already see that it will almost certainly fit me perfectly. I have no idea how Dante managed it, but the dress is absolute perfection.
And nestled next to it is a small, flat velvet box.
This is too much.But it’s all been too much, from the very beginning. The tip he left after that first session. What he did to Rico to make sure I could finish the tattoo. The way he kissed me. The way he touched me.
The things he’s said to me.
I swallow hard, reaching for the box.
Inside is a finely made gold choker necklace—leaves studded with small rubies the same color as the dress. If anyone else had sent me this, I would have said it was fake—but a man like Dante would never send me anything other than real gems.
Which means that I can’t begin to imagine what this—and the vine-shaped earrings designed to fit along my earlobe, studded with matching rubies—cost him.
I trace my finger along the gold, wondering how I can possibly wear something like this. All of this belongs to a world of glitter and glamor that I don’t belong in—and have never wanted to be a part of. I’ve never dreamed of being Cinderella at the ball. I don’t want a handsome prince to wrap me in silk and drown me in jewels, and whisk me away from all of my problems.
Dante wants to do that; I know it. He wants tofixthings for me, and I want to solve them for myself. So far, his methods of ‘fixing’ have only made things worse, instead of better.
Is that entirely true?I set the jewelry down, reaching for the other box. Work has been worse since he threatened Rico, that’s true, but other parts of my life have started to come back to life. I’ve smiled more and laughed more with Dante than I have in the last six months. We’ve shared conversations and time together that have made me feel as if things aren’t quite as bad as they feel. And for all that I know, this is coming to an inevitable end; I can’t deny that my time with him has made me happy. Time I wouldn’t have had, if he hadn’t strong-armed Rico into letting me take over.
